


The Last Will Be First

by XLISSX



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthurian, Clexa, Excalibur, F/F, F/M, Magic-Users, Master/Servant, Princess Clarke, Servant Lexa, Snarky Lexa, Soulmate AU, king arthur - Freeform, snarky clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XLISSX/pseuds/XLISSX
Summary: After the country of Arke was overwhelmed with famine and desert, the Arkians turn to the wild Northlands to save their people from starvation. They find fertile lands in the unknown territory and begin to erect a city that they name Arkewall. Little known to them, a great nation lies to the north that has its own strife, and does not take kindly to new people invading its lands.Clarke is a princess of Arkewall who, after being knocked unconscious in the night, is saved by a mysterious peasant named Lexa. Clarke takes Lexa back to the castle, where her mother Abby, royal physician and council member, offers her a place in the castle as Clarke’s handmaiden. She accepts the offer, and begins to serve Clarke, but Clarke soon realizes the intelligent girl has more to offer than cleaning services. Meanwhile, the threat of a new nation looms in the northeast, and Clarke attempts to sway the council members into making peace with the stubborn war-bent nation.





	

A horse’s hooves pounded through the forest amid flashing lightning and the ominous growling of thunder. The beast swerved around wind-curled trees and leapt over logs in a frenzy as fierce as the storm brewing around it. A girl crouched low on the horse’s neck, blonde hair flying behind her, the hood of her cloak flung from her head long ago. Rain had not started to pour from the dark clouds above, yet the girl’s face was wet and sticky with tears, her teeth bared in grief.  
The girl directed her gray horse through the woods with a skill born of years of practice in the deserts of Arke, but the sheer amount of shrubbery was foreign to horse and rider, and when a tangle of thickets appeared in front of them, the horse galloped right into the thorny bushes, scraping its legs and haunches, and reared up in agony, whinnying and kicking its feet into the air, until the girl toppled off the horse with a shout drowned out by the din of thunder emanating around her. Her head hit the branch of a nearby tree with a hard smack, and she fell into the thickets unconscious.

~.~

A man slowly slumped to the block and rested his head in its groove. His eyes were mournful as he gazed out to his daughter, who was screaming, trying to reach him, barely contained by her mother’s grip around her waist. His gaze switched from mournful to loving at the sight of them, and as an axe was poised above his head, he looked into his daughter’s blue eyes and gave her a slight smile.  
“No!” The girl screamed, “He did nothing wrong! He did nothing wrong!” The axe fell with a whoosh followed by a sharp whap, and she watched in horror as her father’s head rolled onto the ground, a sad smile still on his lips.

~.~

The girl woke to a deafening crack of thunder. She sat up quickly, then immediately regretted the action as her head throbbed in protest. She groaned and laid a delicate hand on the welt forming at the back of her head. At first all that registered to her was pain, but soon she noticed that she was sitting on a deer pelt; her cloak, which now pooled at her waste, had been wrapped around her in her sleep. She was in a cave; the pounding of the storm could be heard outside of it. The cave was relatively large, though it didn't go back very far. She could see the back of it - a smooth surface, with strange marks etched onto it - and she could see outside of it, where a smattering of leaves was being tapped relentlessly with water drops.

What caught the girl's full attention and alarm were none of these things, but the carefully constructed fire beside her, crackling away, its smoke whisking up to the ceiling and doling out into the night outside.

She didn't remember making a fire. She didn't remember finding this cave. She didn't own a deer pelt, and she didn't remember why she would be in the woods in the first place.

"You're safe."  
The words, spoken quietly but nonetheless surprising, made her jump, and she frantically looked for their source, until there was a shift on the other side of the fire, and Clarke saw it.  
Or rather, her.  
A girl leaned leisurely against a rock, long brown hair flowing over her shoulder and down her back, the glow of the fire making her eyes look striking, shining golden in the firelight. Her face was stern and emotionless as she watched the frightened girl, defined cheekbones and chin raised haughtily. She wore leather pants, which had belts and pockets attached all over the thighs and waist, a simple burgundy shirt, gathered closer to her form with a thick belt wrapped around her midriff, and a simple golden ring on the middle finger of her left hand, glistening and twinkling in the light of the fire.  
They stared at each other for a moment, until the confused blonde spoke. "Who are you?"  
"Lexa." The girl replied simply, never diverting her eyes from the other girl's face.  
"Where are we?"  
Lexa ignored the girl's question. "I don't know your name either."  
The blonde sat up straighter. "I am Clarke, Princess of Arkewall, daughter of the late Duke of Mornbury."  
If Lexa had any thoughts about such a title, she did not voice them. She raised her eyebrows slightly, then gave a swift nod. After a few moments, Lexa spoke up again.  
"We are many miles from Arkewall," she said. "You have strayed far from your home."  
Clarke frowned, expecting at least some more deference from the girl at the mention of her title. "It is none of your business what I do or where I go." The "you are just a peasant" was understood but left unsaid.  
Lexa rolled her eyes, and Clarke bristled in agitation at her insolence, but before she could say anything, Lexa spoke.  
"No, it is not. But whatever the reason, it was foolish. You are fortunate that you were found, and doubly as fortunate that it was me who found you. Any wildling would have stripped you of your clothes and items and left you to die. Or, if they were smarter, would have stripped you of your clothes and items and then ransomed you, since it is obvious by your dress you are a person of some import."  
Lexa talked to Clarke as if she was berating a child, and Clarke found it extremely irritating. If she wanted Clarke to thank her, then she would be disappointed. "I can take care of myself," Clarke huffed.  
Lexa raised her eyebrows in an "oh really?" sort of expression, then pointedly looked at Clarke and around her, and Clarke understood she was searching for a weapon.  
"My dagger is on my horse."  
"And what good use it is to you, on your horse, which you led into a thicket and is now nowhere to be found."  
Clarke was dismayed. Her horse, Blikthaz, had been given to her by her father, and had been her companion for years.  
"He will find his way back home. Horses are clever beasts," Clarke assured herself hopefully.  
"Perhaps."  
Clarke sighed and laid back down on the deer pelt.  
"You are injured. Do not strain yourself. You can sleep until the storm passes."  
Again, Clarke felt like she was being mothered, but did not have the energy to fight the girl, so she gave a very unladylike grumble that her mother would be ashamed to hear, and agitatedly tried to fall asleep again.  
As soon as her head rested on the ground, though, it suddenly filled itself with questions, about this strange girl as well as the situation she was in, and she decided that she couldn't sleep until she satiated her curiosity, so she sat up again to look at her apparent savior.  
The brunette had directed her face to the outside, watching the rainfall. The girl was pretty for a peasant who lived in the forest, Clarke decided. She had a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, and long legs that stretched out in front of her. Clarke had never seen a person look so fierce and beautiful at the same time. Most of the beautiful women she met were soft and delicate, but this girl looked like she could take on a tiger. It intrigued her.  
"Are you planning to ransom me?"  
The girl didn't turn her head as she replied. "No."  
"Are you going to strip me naked and steal my stuff?"  
Lexa turned then, her eyes widening negligibly as they darted down to the contours of Clarke's dress and then snapped back up to her face.  
"If I was going to do that, I had plenty of opportunity while you were unconscious."  
"Then what are you planning to do with me?"  
"Take you back to Arkewall."  
Clarke glared at her in distrust. "I don't believe you."  
"Do you know the way back to your castle from here?"  
"Maybe I do."  
If there was one thing the people from Arke knew about, it was the stars. She had been gazing at them for as long as she could remember, and in the deserts there were no trees, so the night sky was always in full view. She was sure that she could find her way back solely by the aid of the stars, but as Lexa had aggravatingly - yet truthfully - pointed out, she was defenseless, and unused to walking in the forests, so she would be hard-pressed to outrun any pursuers.  
“If you think you can make it back by yourself, then by all means go ahead.”  
Clarke didn’t move. She didn't trust this girl, but she had helped her, and Clarke could see her weapons – the unstrung bow at her feet and the knife on her belt – which would be some protection, so it seemed Clarke had no choice but to go with her. At least she would know if they were heading in the correct general direction. But Clarke still had questions.  
"How did you find me?"  
"I heard your horse in the thickets and saw it gallop off. I figured it must have a rider."  
"You heard my horse through the rain and thunder?"  
"I have sharp ears, and you had a distressed horse."  
"What were you doing out in the forest at night during a storm?"  
"I could ask you that same question."  
"Were you poaching?"  
Lexa shrugged.  
Clarke let it go. The girl might be a rude poacher, but she did in some way save Clarke's life, and Clarke figured she at least owed her some lenience.  
"Where are you from?"  
"Kendingston." It was a village under the protection of Arkewall and the most northern Arke settlement. It explained why Lexa would be so far north.  
"And you picked me up and carried me to this cave?"  
"Yes."  
"How far away is this cave from where I fell?"  
"Not far. I would not torture myself under your weight for too long a distance."  
Clarke ignored the snide comment and looked Lexa over. She was lean and clearly fit, if her toned forearms were any indication. She supposed Lexa carrying her a distance wasn't that much of a stretch, but was still wary to believe her. If she got Clarke home safely, Clarke would reward her.  
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"  
"You don't."  
"If you get me home safely, you will be rewarded."  
"If you wish."  
Clarke didn't know what to think of that response, but decided her answers were satisfactory enough for the time being. Lexa must want something from this, but she clearly wasn’t going to tell her what she wanted now.  
"Fine. You may take me home."  
Lexa nodded, and they sat in silence, listening to the pounding of rain and the crackle of the fire.  
Her curiosity satiated for the time being, a rush of drowsiness fell on Clarke, and she yawned. She decided that if Lexa didn't kill her when she was unconscious, she wasn't going to kill her if she took another nap.  
She rested back down and immediately fell asleep*.

~.~

Clarke stood on a balcony, its marble stone glittering in the light of the emerging sun. Stretched out far below was a massive city, sprawling all the way to the horizon as far as Clarke could see. The dawn displayed its vibrant colors like an orange peacock, and Clarke gasped at the breathtaking view, unbidden tears leaking from her eyes as winds flicked her hair in wild directions. She heard a soft voice call from behind her, and reluctantly tore her eyes from the sight and turned around.  
Before her was a castle the likes of which Clarke had never seen. It had innumerable turrets and towers that pierced up into the puffed clouds above, and was made of stone as white as seashells. A massive gate loomed in front of her, its doors swung wide open like a gaping mouth, and Clarke gazed into the throne room it opened into. A line of pillars stood erected like dominoes along both sides of it, creating a path leading to a stage with three ascending tiers. The first tier was the widest, but the shortest. It was only a step. The second was not as wide as the first, but stretched far back, and on it was a white table that was round and had high-backed chairs assembled around its girth. The third and final tier was the tallest, but smallest in width, and it had one very large chair on top of it, magnificent and dazzling.  
Clarke found that, after staring very hard at this throne, she was standing much closer to it, and was no longer on the balcony, but among the pillars in the throne room. Clarke was grateful for the better view, because there was something very important about that throne, though Clarke did not know what. She stared at it harder and harder, until suddenly the entire room shook around her, and the light dissolved into darkness. Lightning flashed, and the sharp light revealed a figure sitting on the throne, tall and regal. Then another flash, and there were two chairs on the top tier, but still only one figure sitting atop the first chair, the second empty. The figure – who Clarke could not discern any features from – now had its head turned to the side, looking at the additional chair, as if waiting for someone to sit on it. There was a pregnant pause before the third flash appeared with a crack and the entire room heaved and shuddered. It revealed the two chairs again, but this time they were both occupied by figures, who Clarke could still not make out any features of, no matter how hard she tried. They sat regally, looking straight out ahead, until the last flash ended, and there was nothing but darkness.

~.~

"Clarke, get up. The rain has stopped."  
Clarke was gently jostled awake by strong fingers on her shoulders, and groaned in dissatisfaction. She attempted to glare at the girl crouched above her, but Lexa only looked somehow amused, despite her face not making any discernible changes from its usual neutral expression.  
Lexa leaned back from her position over Clarke and held out some dried meat.  
"Hungry?"  
Clarke stared curiously at the mystery meat. "What is it?"  
"Eat it and you'll find out."  
Clarke was going to refuse, but her stomach vetoed that decision by rumbling loudly, so she took the strip of meat from Lexa's fingers and bit into it.  
"Good?"  
Clarke didn't know if it was just because she was starving, but she liked it, so she nodded. Clarke discerned its gamey flavor as venison. Different from her usual diet, but not altogether outlandish.  
In response Lexa promptly handed her a patty of unleavened bread, an onion, and a water canteen.  
Clarke turned her nose at the onion (she wasn't that hungry), but gulped down the water and scarfed the bread down contentedly.  
While she ate she watched Lexa take down the camp with a militaristic precision and quickness that could only be accomplished through continual repetition.  
What did that say about her? Not much, Clarke decided, except that she maybe traveled a lot. Perhaps all peasants were adroit at bush-craft, especially ones who were poachers, as Clarke strongly suspected she was.  
When Lexa returned to Clarke, every one of her items packed neatly into a bag she had slung on one shoulder, she saw the untouched onion, and after looking at Clarke for confirmation that she wasn't going to eat it, she picked it up and bit into it.  
Clarke grimaced.  
"It's sweet," Lexa explained, and held it out for Clarke to try.  
Clarke believed in many things in the world. Heck, she was a magic user, but sweet onions was where she drew her quota line of credibility.  
Clarke shook her head. "No thanks."  
Lexa shrugged and took another bite of her ridiculous onion. "Come. It is not a long or hard trek, but we should pace ourselves to try to reach Arkewall before the next sunset."

~•~

Clarke didn't know what Lexa considered "a long and hard trek", but if this wasn't it, she shuddered at the thought of what would be. Even more pestiferous than her aching legs, the insects assaulting her, and the branches smacking her in the face, was the girl several feet ahead of her, who was galloping like a gazelle through the woods like it was easy.  
Lexa's absolute reticence was also aggravating. It wasn't just that she didn't speak (though that was part of the problem; Clarke had counted a measly five words leave her lips since they had started off), but she didn't make any noise with her movements either, hopping over things and ducking under branches and moving with such fluidity Clarke had stopped once just to watch her ("We will rest later" she shouted over her shoulder, which accounted for four of the five words she had spoken that day).

Clarke had also tried to be as quiet as Lexa once, attempting to dodge all the noisy things in her path, but it had slowed her down considerably, and Lexa had once again given her a clipped command over her shoulder, "hurry", which accounted for the last of the five words she had yet spoken that day.  
When Lexa easily vaulted a fallen tree trunk that barred the way and was about five feet in diameter, then ran at least twenty feet ahead before noticing that Clarke was struggling, and jogged back, vaulted the log again, heaved Clarke over it like a sack of potatoes, then jumped it again, and continued on as if nothing happened, Clarke decided she had had enough of the reticence.  
"How are you so quiet and fast?" She blurted, exasperated.  
Clarke couldn't see Lexa's face since she was walking behind her, but she imagined it looked smug, which Clarke hadn't seen, but guessed wasn't that much different than her normal face except with a cocky smile.  
"Maybe it is you who are loud and slow."  
Definitely smug. And also unfair, because Clarke was wearing a dress which greatly restricted her movement.  
At least, Clarke thought, the strange girl was talking.  
"Did you take lessons?"  
"Yes."  
"From who?"  
“A friend." Lexa said cryptically, with a finality that indicated that the conversation was over.  
Fine. Clarke liked a challenge. She would get Lexa to open up eventually.

Clarke groaned when she tripped over a root and almost face-planted.  
"Care to share your forest knowledge, oh wise one?"  
At this, Lexa stopped, and Clarke, who was looking at the ground determinedly trying not to trip on anything, almost ran into the back of her.  
"You want me to teach you?" Lexa looked truly curious, her brows furrowed, and Clarke would be offended if she wasn't busy being mesmerized by the display of new emotion.  
"Why, is that surprising?"  
Lexa took a moment to think about it. "What use does a princess have for walking through the woods?"  
It was the first time Lexa had acknowledged her status, yet she said "princess" like an offensive term, and Clarke didn't like it.  
"I don't know, maybe if she decides to hop on a horse and go riding in the middle of a storm at night."  
Clarke thought Lexa almost grinned, but caught herself just in time to pull it off as a grimace.  
"About that, why? Were you being chased?"  
"No." Clarke could be cryptic too.  
Lexa didn't say anything, but crossed her arms and waited expectantly for more of an explanation.  
"I had a bad dream."  
"You had a bad dream," Lexa repeated, as if she didn't believe it for a second. Whatever, it was the truth. Not the whole truth, but the truth. If Lexa didn't want to believe her, she didn't have to.  
"Yes." Clarke replied levelly, then saw an opportunity to finally boss Lexa. She was getting annoyed at being ordered around.  
"Don't stop. Continue. I want to get back by dark," she commanded. It wasn't much, but it made her feel better.  
Lexa only nodded, and Clarke walked ahead, fully expecting Lexa to overtake her and take the lead again, but she didn't.  
Instead she trailed behind Clarke, observing her, which made her uncomfortable. If Lexa didn't whisper instructions under her breath every few minutes, Clarke could almost forget she was there entirely. It was unnerving, and Clarke started regretting asking her to do it. As the day progressed, Lexa's running commentary was becoming decidedly more sassy.  
"Yes, Clarke, that’s it, continue to stomp your feet instead of rolling them like I instructed."  
"Did you not see that leaf, Clarke, or did you think it would hold under your weight?"  
"It's no wonder you ran face-first into a spider web, your head was bent so low it's a wonder you didn't trip over it."  
"At this rate, we may possibly get there before I die of old age, but you might want to speed up a little just in case."  
"I can hear you grumbling, princess, and so can everything within a mile's radius of you."  
"Stop thinking so hard, the animals can hear that too."  
"If there was an award for stepping on every possible noisy object in the woods, then you would have earned five by now."  
If Clarke didn't know any better, she would think that Lexa was rather enjoying herself. After enduring Lexa's "corrections" for a while, she started talking back at her. Clarke was bored, and Lexa was too proud to let Clarke have the last word, so it stretched on longer than either of them could have anticipated.  
"Clarke, I told you to look up. You're going to run into a tree."  
"I'm sorry I don't have eyes on my feet. It's not my fault I didn't attend freak training like you."  
"It concerns me that walking quietly through a forest is such a novel concept to you that you would think it 'freakish'."  
"I think you're forgetting I grew up in a desert. The only vegetation I had to avoid were cacti, which, by the way, I've been dreaming of shoving down your throat for the last hour."  
“And then,” Lexa shot back, ignoring the insult, “instead of adapting to the new environment, you locked yourself up in a stone building to live out the rest of your days, knitting shawls and throwing handkerchiefs at prissy knights.”  
That one hurt, because it would have rung true if Clarke hadn’t been doing everything in her power to avoid that fate. She became defensive.  
“I don’t knit,” she started emphatically. “And that was my mother, actually, who thought everything here was dangerous and locked me up; trust me, it wasn’t voluntary. And I didn’t live in a stone building. I had to live in a wooden house for a long time while they built the keep.”  
“Really? A woman of your status living in a lowly wooden abode? How horrible.”  
“Not really. The keep is much draftier.”  
As time passed, they started running out of subject matter to be annoyed at each other with, and the conversation reached a hiatus. A hiatus that quickly ended when Clarke tripped over something again (she didn’t even know what it was that time), and she heard Lexa snort behind her. Clarke had had enough of the one-sided embarrassment, so she decided to play dirty.  
"Are you sure you're back there to help me, Lexa? Or are you taking advantage of your position just to stare at my butt?"  
Lexa’s eyes widened, not expecting the princess to say anything crass, but she quipped right back anyway. "No, Clarke, I only stare at things that are substantial and impressive.”  
"It's too bad you can't see my breasts then, because they're both."  
Clarke waited for Lexa's reply, but none came. She looked back and Lexa immediately snapped her head to the side, as if something in the trees suddenly caught her attention, but not before Clarke caught a glimpse of red cheeks.  
Ooh, Got her.  
Lexa was much quieter after that, and Clarke couldn’t keep a smug smile off her lips.

It wasn't until the sun was straight overhead and Clarke was panting in the heat that Lexa announced it was time to stop for lunch.  
It wasn't so much an announcement, or at least the kind she was used to, as a servant would knock on the door and say "supper is ready, my lady", and Lexa just grabbed her arm and led her under a shady patch of trees, handed her an apple, and said "eat."  
Clarke ignored the bossing because she was hungry and wholeheartedly agreed with the saying, "don't bite the hand that feeds you". Her mom had taught her that when she was little, explaining how easy it would be for a cook to slip something unsavory or poisonous into a dish, and Clarke had gone down to the kitchens every week since to thank the cooks for their services. She was good friends with a few of them now, and had lost count of how many times they had snuck her some midnight snacks. She realized now her mom had probably only told her that so she would stop complaining about the food and start being appreciative, but it was still a good lesson.  
It paid to be nice. And she wouldn't put it past Lexa to poison her after the many offensive things she had told her during their trek. Lexa seemed like the type to hold a grudge.

There was a question Clarke had been mulling over all day, and she decided to just ask it.  
"Why are you doing this?"  
Lexa didn't reply, and Clarke thought she was trying to play it off that she didn't hear her.  
"Lexa, I know you heard me."  
"I am afraid I need more context, your majesty."  
Clarke rolled her eyes at the mocking tone. "Why are you helping me?"  
"I like to think I am a decent person."  
"How noble of you."  
"I thought so."  
Lexa leaned against a tree, chewing her food contentedly, and they both listened to the buzzing of insects and birdsong. It was quiet.  
Clarke hated quiet. Quiet meant inaction. Quiet meant lazing around a castle. Quiet meant having nothing to do but sewing and reading.

There was a man Clarke knew named Yars. Yars was a royal hunter in peacetime and a scout in wartime. When she was little, Clarke would listen to his stories, sitting around a bonfire with the other children, stars shining overhead. He would tell of his adventures: brawling tigers, taming elephants, getting captured by enemies in the old wars. He had lived a full life, full of action. What many people didn't know about the burly bearded man was that he was also a proficient wood carver. He would carve furniture for struggling families and whittle intricate toys for the children. Clarke still had a few of his creations on her shelves. He said that carving was how he relaxed after a hard day's work, and Clarke had always admired how he did something useful and joyful even in his free time.  
Relaxing, Clarke had realized then, was supposed to be something that one did after working, not every hour of the day, like Clarke's mother tried to make her do in the castle. Ever since, she had been trying to do useful things, like attending council meetings, reading about history and politics, and honing her skills in healing magic, anything that wouldn’t make her feel useless.  
Today, Clarke loved the feeling of having a mission, however short this one was; she reveled in the normalcy and excitement of having somewhere to go and something to do. She loved the feeling that she had earned her rest. She envied that Lexa probably felt that every day. Lexa probably went to bed at the end of every day and actually felt tired.

"Did you carve those markings that were in the cave?" Clarke asked, taking Lexa by surprise (Clarke could tell by the way her eyebrows moved up her forehead fractionally). She evidently didn't think Clarke had noticed.  
"No. They say it was an ancient quarry," Lexa told her carefully, "and that a special stone was hewn from it decades ago.”  
Clarke could feel a story coming on. “What kind of stone? A magical one?”  
“Yes,” confirmed Lexa. Then, to Clarke’s annoyance, she changed the subject. “Do you have magic?”  
“Mmhmm,” Clarke mumbled, taking a bite of apple. “I’m a healer. My mother is the royal physician. I guess it runs in the family. Do you?”  
“No.” Lexa replied curtly, and Clarke realized it might be a sensitive topic. Most Arkians had at least some magical ability, and those who didn’t were sometimes looked down upon.  
“Well neither does King Jaha, so it’s not that big of a deal,” Clarke told her encouragingly, and Lexa was suddenly listening to her with rapt attention, scooting towards her minutely. Clarke supposed she didn’t very often get to hear about the king from someone who knew him personally.  
“What is he like?” Lexa asked, confirming Clarke’s suppositions. But they were both done eating, and Clarke, looking to the sky, could see that a chunk of time had passed. If she got on a rant about the king, they might be there until late evening.  
Lexa noticed the action and, apparently having similar thoughts, stood up, holding out a hand for Clarke to take, but Clarke dismissed it and rolled up onto her feet.  
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough when you meet him, if you really are taking me to the castle.”  
Lexa nodded slowly, and took the lead again.

~.~

“Lexa, this is taking too long.” Clarke sighed. Her feet hurt, her muscles ached, and the only thing that she enjoyed about the situation was the beautiful view. The light was shining through the leaves of the trees so they looked like they were glowing, sending beams of light randomly through the darkness of the forest like fiery swords, and Clarke wished she had an easel so she could paint it.  
“How long is it supposed to take, princess?”  
Clarke smacked a mosquito dancing on her arm. “I don’t know, less time than this.”  
“We’ll be there soon.”  
“You think so?”  
“I hope so. I don’t think I can stand much more of this.”  
“Neither can I.”  
“Did I say ‘this’? I meant you.”  
“Rude.” Clarke swatted at a bunch of branches she had walked into and Lexa pushed them out of the way with one arm subconsciously.  
Lexa looked backwards for a moment, as if mentally measuring out the distance from which they had come. “How on earth did you ride your horse this far in one night anyway?”  
“He’s a very fast horse. One of the best, especially in the desert. I used to win races on him,” Clarke declared proudly, and then sighed sadly. “But he’s unused to this many plants.”  
“Clearly.”  
“I miss Blikthaz.”  
“Excuse you.”  
“That’s my horse’s name.”  
“Did you name him that yourself?”  
“No, my father did, after the sound he makes when galloping.”  
Lexa grunted in warning as Clarke walked towards a stream. “Your father, the Duke of Mornbury?”  
Clarke groaned as she walked into the water anyway and got her feet wet. “That’s the one.”  
“Where is Mornbury?”  
That gave Clarke pause. She had never thought of that before. “… I actually don’t know. Once they might have been places the dukes actually lived, but now I think the titles are just honorary, to differentiate between the other dukes.”  
“Who are the other dukes?” Lexa questioned, only to pass the time, Clarke guessed, since it wasn’t exactly a riveting topic.  
“Well, there’s the Duke of Jelkala who lives far southwest, and the Duke of Kells – “  
“Clarke.” Lexa was looking up at something ahead, but Clarke walked on oblivious.  
“– and his wife who is named the Grand Duchess of Isothorp, though I have no idea why she’s grand and he’s not, and– “  
“Clarke.”  
“And I think there’s also a Grand Duchess of Rothburg, but her husband’s an earl, which makes no sense, really – “  
“Clarke!”  
Clarke swerved around with wide eyes. “What?”  
“I think I see it up ahead.”  
“See what?”  
“Your castle, dimwit.”  
“Really?”  
Lexa pointed and, sure enough, a spire poking through the sky was just discernible through the trees.  
“That’s the spire of our tallest tower. It was just completed last season,” Clarke announced proudly.  
“Impressive,” Lexa said, not sounding altogether impressed.  
Clarke was too excited to notice Lexa’s lack of enthusiasm. “Let’s go. My worried and most likely murderous mother awaits.”  
“I can’t wait. She sounds pleasant.”  
“Oh, you have no idea.”  
~.~

Lexa hadn’t reacted to the castle quite like Clarke had expected her to. Since Lexa was a peasant who had probably never seen a castle, Clarke had been expecting a lot of “ooh”s and “wow that’s amazing”s, but after walking through even the most impressive parts and receiving virtually no reaction from the girl (Clarke even took a few detours just to be thorough), she realized that anything more would be totally out of character for Lexa. She was too sulky and proud to show any emotions other than cold indifference. Lexa did, however, look interested. No, not interested, Clarke corrected herself. Observant. Like she was trying to memorize every feature and alleyway, every old lady and child. Clarke figured that was all the emotion the place would elicit out of her, and was surprised to find that it didn’t annoy her as much as it would, say, a day ago. She supposed she was just used to it by now.  
Clarke was amusedly watching Lexa glare at a merchant who was trying to sell her jewelry when someone grabbed Clarke by the arm from behind. She involuntarily gasped and pulled away, spinning around to face her assailant, then let out a groan of frustration when she saw the gleaming helmet and breastplate of a palace guard.  
The man opened his mouth to speak, but before he had gotten a word out a flash of brown crossed Clarke’s vision and the man was hurled to the ground on his back, gasping for air. Lexa stood above him menacingly, grasping the offensive hand that had held Clarke. She had one of his fingers bent back at an awkward angle.  
Clarke got over her shock enough to gasp out, “Lexa wait!”, but it was too late. Clarke heard a crack, and the man wailed in pain. Everyone standing around them watched with mouths agape, gasping in shock.  
“Lexa, it’s fine. He’s just following orders.”  
Lexa squinted at Clarke like she had lost her mind. “But Clarke, he was – “  
“Let him go,” Clarke commanded sternly, leaving no room for argument.  
Lexa held back her protest like it was bitter in her mouth, and reluctantly released the man’s hand, who looked at his broken finger helplessly, like he didn’t know what to do with it. Clarke sighed and walked up to him.  
The man watched Lexa step back, a small snarl on her lips, then looked to Clarke, then back to Lexa, obviously very confused by the interaction. “I’m sorry, princess. The Duchess said – “  
“I know. Give me your hand.” Clarke ordered calmly, kneeling down beside him. She held his hand in hers and whispered a quick incantation that would ease the pain. The man sighed in relief. Then Clarke mumbled another spell, and his finger glowed slightly before straightening back to normal with a snap.  
“You should know not to touch any woman without her consent,” teased Clarke gently, and the man grimaced.  
“And I never will again,” he replied seriously, flinching when he glanced over at Lexa, who was watching the scene with such well-veiled interest that it almost looked like boredom, and somehow was just as intimidating as a glare. Clarke’s heart thumped an almost painful pulse in her chest when she and Lexa locked eyes for a moment, and not knowing how to deal with the intensity of the girl’s wild green eyes (or her reaction to it), she turned her gaze quickly, looking the man over to see if he had any further injuries. He seemed a little out of breath, and still shocked, but otherwise unhurt. The man was strong, like any palace guard had to be, but young. Clarke figured he had only recently been promoted. His parents must be proud, Clarke thought affectionately. It was many boys’ dreams to be palace guards.  
“The Duchess said to not let you get away if we saw you, my lady. I didn’t want to hafta go chasing you through the streets,” he explained, blushing furiously.  
Clarke laughed, endeared to him instantly. “What is your name?”  
The young man didn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly thinking he had imagined the question, but when Clarke looked at him expectantly he cleared his throat and squeaked out an answer. “My name is Atom, my lady.”  
“I will make your job easy for you, Atom. I am returning to the Duchess just now, and will need someone to escort me to her.”  
The man jumped up. “I will escort you, my lady.”  
“Good,” Clarke nodded approvingly. The man offered her his arm, and she took it, giving him a bright smile that made him blush again. She heard Lexa make a strange sound behind her – something between a growl and a sigh of exasperation – and the young guard jumped a little, as if he had forgotten she was there. Clarke smirked at the reaction, feeling an inexplicable pride for the intimidating and grumpy girl behind her.  
“Come on, Lexa. Or is there someone else’s fingers you want to break?”  
“Shut up,” Lexa pouted, which only made Clarke smile wider. Atom stared at Lexa with awe on his face, amazed she would dare tell the princess to do anything, let alone shut up, but Clarke didn’t give him much time to think about it. She dragged him towards the keep.

~.~

They found the Grand Duchess Griffin in the royal infirmary. She was smashing some ingredients in a mortar and pestle when the trio walked in, Clarke still arm in arm with the proud guard and Lexa trailing behind them.  
The Duchess started when they opened the door, then shouted “Clarke!” in a manner that was partly reprimanding and mostly relieved, running to Clarke – long dress swishing back and forth – and flinging her arms around her.  
“Hello, mother,” Clarke mumbled, patting her on the back.  
“Clarke, where were you? I was about to tear down half the castle to find you. Are you all right?” Abby’s worried eyes scanned Clarke for injuries.  
Clarke had forgotten how guilty her mother could make her feel. “I’m fine, mother. Really.”  
“If you’ve gotten all sorted, Duchess, I should return to my post,” Atom interrupted sheepishly.  
Abby immediately turned to face him, looking him over. “You are a Cowen boy, are you not?”  
“Yes, Duchess. I’ve got three older brothers in the service.”  
“And you found my daughter?”  
That question seemed to stump him. “Ah, well. Yes and no, Duchess. I mean, I found her, but she was coming back here anyway, with this, uh, lady.”  
It was then that Abby noticed Lexa.  
“Who is this?” She asked, eyeing the girl who looked out of place with her tight black pants, bow and quiver, long knife, and defiant eyes.  
Atom seemed to think the Duchess was addressing him, because he answered her immediately. “I don’t really know, my lady, but she broke my finger.”  
“She broke your finger? Why?”  
“Because, I, uh, may have been a tad too forceful in getting the princess here, my lady. I grabbed her arm so she wouldn’t get away.”  
“And then this girl attacked you and broke your finger?”  
“Yes, my lady. Sent me right on my butt. Then the princess healed me. See?” He showed her his finger, which was still slightly swollen.  
Abby didn’t seem to know what to do with this information. She stared slightly open-mouthed at Lexa for a bit, who met her gaze unflinchingly, then, snapping her mouth shut again and regaining control of herself, she cleared her throat. “Thank you, Atom. You may return to your post. Tell your father that his medicine is ready whenever he has time to come pick it up.”  
Atom looked relieved. “Will do, Duchess. My lady.” He bowed to both of them in turn, glanced at Lexa warily, and made his escape.  
When he had left, Abby turned to Clarke and repeated her earlier question, “Who is this?”  
“This is Lexa. She, uh, found me. And helped me.”  
Abby turned to Lexa before Clarke could elaborate, realizing that she would get much more information from someone whose mother wasn’t about to murder them. “And where, Lexa, did you find my daughter?”  
“In the forest, unconscious in the bushes,” Lexa deadpanned.  
Abby looked as if she was about to have a heart attack, as if all her worst fears had come true in that statement.  
“Clarke! In the forest? Unconscious? What if Lexa hadn’t found you?”  
Lexa smirked complacently. “That’s what I told her.”  
Clarke could feel the conversation slipping away from her influence, and desperately tried to regain it. “I was just going for a ride – “  
“At night,” butted in Lexa. “During a thunderstorm.” Clarke glared at her.  
The Grand Duchess put a hand over her heart. “Clarke, there are wildlings in there!”  
“And wolves,” supplied Lexa.  
The duchess nodded emphatically in agreement. “And you were unconscious?”  
“I fell off Blikthaz and hit my head,” Clarke said hurriedly before Lexa could mention anything else.  
Abby frowned confusedly as she grabbed Clarke’s head and searched for bruising, then proceeded to stare into her eyes and look for signs of concussion. “You fell off Blikthaz? You haven’t done that since you were nine.”  
“I know,” Clarke sighed, feeling strangely embarrassed. “He isn’t used to all the bushes.”  
“And then Lexa found you.” Abby guessed, inspecting a jagged cut on Clarke’s arm.  
“Yes,” Clarke replied, then thought she might as well tell the whole story. “She found me, carried me to a cave, gave me food, and then led me back here.” Clarke hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly like that. She had meant to say it in an offhand, “anybody else would have done this” sort of way, but she only made Lexa seem like some sort of hero. Which she wasn’t.  
Abby seemed to think so, though. She looked at Lexa differently now, obviously impressed. She was thinking, Clarke observed. She was thinking really hard, which never meant anything good.  
“And you took down that guard?” Abby asked, addressing Lexa again.  
“Yes, Duchess,” Lexa replied respectfully, without an ounce of sarcasm, and Clarke held back a snort.  
“And what is your occupation?”  
“I am a huntress.”  
“Where do you come from?”  
“Near Kendingston.”  
“Do you have family there?”  
“No, my lady, my parents died of sickness long ago.”  
“No brothers or sisters?”  
“No.”  
Clarke was surprised at the new information, though in hindsight she maybe shouldn’t have been. For some reason she had imagined Lexa as the eldest daughter of a big family, helping her parents provide for her siblings and bossing her brothers and sisters around. She clearly had enough of a protective nature to fulfill the role. Her aloofness, though, made more sense now. Clarke felt slightly guilty for being so rude to her; she knew what it was like to lose a family member, and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose all of them.  
Abby put her fingers on her chin thoughtfully, then nodded, as if she had made a decision.  
“Lexa, I have an offer for you.” Clarke sharply faced her mother, wondering what she had cooked up in her head. Lexa was listening with just as much intensity.  
“It so happens that Princess Clarke’s maidservant is very old, and recently had to retire.”  
Clarke suddenly knew exactly what her mother was about to offer. “Mother,” she groaned.  
Abby ignored her daughter. “I am having a hard time replacing her, since she was very dear to Clarke, and had been serving her since she was little. You seem better equipped than anyone to watch over her. I will pay you twice as much as usual, for your efforts thus far, and for the added bonus of your … skills in the future. If you do not want to take the position, which I understand completely (the princess is quite a handful), then I will give you a reward and you may be off. But, if you take the offer, I will make sure a comfortable room is prepared for you, and you will receive, as I said, a good pay, with the freedom to quit whenever you want. It is up to you.”  
Clarke wanted to drown herself in the well. She knew what her mother offered was preposterous. Lexa, a servant, in a castle? Clarke could hardly imagine it. She especially couldn’t imagine Lexa agreeing to serve her, after what they had just been through. She was getting ready to turn her mother down for Lexa, when, to her utter amazement, Lexa responded.  
“I accept.”

**Author's Note:**

> Up Next: Octavia and Raven make appearances and Clarke finally gets to put her bossing proclivities to good use.
> 
> So, when I first started developing this, I made it with the intention of it being a drama. Then something weird happened between its conception and creation (it probably had something to do with me really enjoying snarky Lexa), and I ended up with this. If drama and gravitas were what you were expecting, I swear there will be a lot more in later chapters. If you were pleasantly surprised by the lack of it, well, I am sorry, but it’s going to show up.
> 
> *Here’s that asterisk that you may have been wondering about: As a nurse-in-training, I feel the responsibility to warn my readers to never go to sleep after receiving a serious head injury. You may never wake up. Or you’ll receive brain damage. Just don't do it. Have you heard the nursery rhyme about the man who went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning? Notice it doesn’t say he didn’t get up; it says he couldn’t get up. Because he was dead. Enough said.  
> Also: sweet onions are a thing. Watch the movie Holes if you don’t believe me.


End file.
